Building a Still
by Dans-ma-propre-tete
Summary: requests: would it be okay for me to ask for a Jitters' rooftop vibrating westallen I did my very best. Enjoy!


**Back again (and so soon!) If you know me, then you probably know the deal. Below is the PG version of an X-rated smut posted on another site. If you want to know where to find the smutty, juicy original recipe, PM me or write a review. Thanks for reading.**

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**Building a Still . . .**

For Iris, it was a funny thing, knowing what she knew and having to keep the secret. Barry and all of his extra. Still, she found, with her masochistic sense of humor, ways to entertain herself. It wouldn't do to let Barry stay forever in the dark, but this was fun, so she kept it up.

The storefront doorbell chimed, "Miss West," he said, voice reverberating. "Busy night?"

"The busiest. You?"

"Oh, you know," he said, nonchalant.

"You really think that, don't you? That it's all in a days work?" she asked. He didn't responded but stayed rigid, maybe hot with anticipation. "Help me with these," Iris requested, gesturing towards the dishes in the sink. The room momentarily was overcome with a blur of red and he was before her again.

"The roof?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied. He swept her up from and carried her quick up the stairs. When he set her down, he spun her back was to him. He pressed both hands to her flat stomach underneath her shirt.

"Kiss me," he said, his voice downy soft in her ears.

Her fingers gripped the back of his head and she turned her chin her eager mouth could meet his. The kiss didn't begin tentative. It was hot and deep, as his hand cupped her breast. And it got sweet, pecking off until neither of them could stand it.

She turned around, only a hair between them. "You know, I wish you knew, how bad I want you."

Barry's hand that was on her ass, slipped down between her legs and teased her, drawing her flush against him, her breath on his neck. "I can tell," he cooed.

"Can you? I know you. I know you, do you understand?" she pleaded. "Now that I've touched you, kissed you, I know you. And I've waited for you to come clean, and I don't want to beg for you."

"How can you know someone like me without knowing my name?"

She shook her head, tears well up in her eyes. She kissed him, her tears on his cheeks. Barry eased Iris up against the brick wall. Her head hit it with a gentle thud.

"Turn around, hands on the wall."

Iris licked her lips in anticipation

**(Insert juicy, smutty stuff that had to be redacted because of the "Man")**

His unoccupied hand covered her own and he kissed the flesh of her shoulder and continued to rub her down. He loved watching her when she was this close, her luscious mouth relaxed and open, her body curved. She was moaning something softly, indistinct.

"Care to share with the class, Miss West?" he asked with mock force.

She was saying his name. She couldn't help herself. She tried to keep the sound of his name on her lips quiet but as she came, she croaked aloud, "Ba-ar-ry."

The vibrations didn't stop. He let her come around his vibrating fingers, and when she did he took a step back. Her body continued to buzz after he pulled away.

"You can open your eyes now," he commanded after her shocks died out.

"You sure?" she asked tentatively, slowly turning on her heels. Barry was a sorry sight, his head hung low, licking his fingers, no eye contact, but his masked was off of his face.

"I'm sorry."

"You should have told me."

"I know. I was trying to keep you safe. How'd you figure it out?"

"It was after you told me that you loved me. I saw you like this a few days after and you said something that kept me up for hours. I kept replaying it over and over again. And curious, I went to see you the next day, and I saw it. The same man, the very same. And I could feel the same restraint in you that there was in plain clothes you. And you are a terrible liar."

"Am I?"

"You're pretty bad, Bear. At lying, I mean," she said sheepishly, crossing her hands behind her back. She felt shy now, and she didn't know why, she could sense the same shyness in him, too.

"You're not mad?"

"No, Barry, I'm not mad. I've had weeks to be mad, and you've done a very convincing job of making me forget all of my anger." She was speaking of the other times, on the roof, in the kitchen, on the counter, memories vivid. "That, you're good at."

"I feel like shit."

"Why?" she implored sympathetically.

"I've been keeping things from you. I never did that before."

"Well, Mr. Allen," she started, lacing her fingers to a crown on his neck, "Now you can tell me all about it. Start with the lightning strike," she ordered. He nodded in agreement, hands finding the small of her back.

"Actually, no, kiss me first."

He dove for her lips and she darted away slightly.

"Actually no, tell me everything." She was giddy, finding herself in the moment that she had spent weeks imagining, in which she and Barry could bask in the true they shared.

"How about this: let's go back to your place and I can tell you everything?"

"Okay," she conceded. "But can I just say something first?"

"What is it, Ire?" he asked a little exasperated.

She nibbled her bottom lip white. "I love you," she sighed into his ear. She had to stand on tippy toes to reach. Then she kissed his pulse, Barry's own, naked skin.


End file.
